June Of Doom Day 5

June of Doom Day 5

"It's not as bad as it looks."

| Handcuffs | Swelling | Flinch |

Cw: The prompts above and implied torture.

...

Whumpee lay on the cold basement floor, in the middle of the room where Whumper left them, and sobbed. The cuffs cut into their wrists and their stomach throbbed from the bruises that littered it.

They hadn't seen Other Whumpee when they were thrown in, the corners of the room were too dark. And Other Whumpee had been asleep until the sobs of Whumpee woke them.

Once they'd shaken off the remnant of the nightmare, Other Whumpee pulled themselves from the ground to help Whumpee. They approached the shivering form slowly, reaching out to them as though they were a wounded animal.

"Hey," they said softly, their hand touching gently on Whumpee's shoulder. Whumpee flinched away.

"Sorry," Other Whumpee whispered. Whumper didn't like it when they talked. "I just want to help you. Can I look at your wounds?"

Whumpee curled further away from them, their eyes adjusting to the dark to take in the hunched form in front of them. Other Whumpee was bruised and battered, the fingers on their left hand bent at wrong angles, but their eyes were kind, their voice sincere as they spoke to Whumpee.

Whumpee eventually pushed themselves up from the ground awkwardly, and let Other Whumpee come over to inspect the wounds.

There were ugly and dark bruises beginning to form, and Whumpee's leg was swollen and tender.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Other Whumpee reassured as he pressed on a particularly bad bruise and Whumpee whimpered.

"You've no broken bones, no serious internal bleeding, you'll heal just fine."

Whumpee just nodded.

"What's your name?" they managed finally, their voice hoarse from screaming and sobbing.

Other Whumpee just looked away. "It's best if we don't trade names. It's easier for Whumper to use us against each other then."

Whumpee nodded hesitantly.

"Get some rest, I'll explain some more in the morning. There are ways to placate Whumper, ways to keep from getting too hurt. I'll teach you."

"Escape?" Whumpee managed.

Other Whumpee barked a laugh. "There's no escape from here, only survival."

Villain Rehabilitation

Based loosely on a dream—I have no recollection of writing this

Cw: medical malpractice, institutionalized abuse, mentioned “therapeutic” torture, mentioned drowning/water torture, burns, there’s just a general upset, creepy vibes here, mentioned electrical torture, accidental self inflicted burns (Villain has fire powers.. it makes sense in the piece)

The floor was cold to match the air, villain could feel the chill seeping up from the tiles, through their thin socks. It was freezing in their small room, of course it was. It was always freezing. The thin blankets on their cot did absolutely nothing to protect them from that cold. It didn’t bother them like the way it used to, but on particular bad days it still caused old scars to ache, healed wounds to throb as if new.

It was Thursday. They knew that much. They had no clue what the date was, nor the month. In their little cell, there was no windows, only their bed and a dresser, and a little bathroom through an open doorway. And the camera in the corner, which they did their best to ignore. Their last attempt at escape had lost them the shred of privacy they had left, two of the staff members coming in during the night to remove the curtain that blocked the bathroom from the main space. Whatever. They tried to act as if that didn’t bother them. One of the few luxuries they had left, gone.

They knew it was Thursday, though, because no one had come in. No staff to deliver their meal, no guards to drag them off to another therapy session. They were alone and cold and hungry, which meant only one thing.

It was Thursday, and that meant Hero was coming.

They honestly would have preferred therapy. They would have preferred to be submerged into the depths of the ice cold tub, or the burning hot steam, to scream and thrash as the water seared their skin, leaving welts and burns similar to that flames would cause. But the staff had tried that, dozens of times. Sparks from a lighter, or whatever humane name they chose to give it to cover the fact they were intentionally trying to burn them did not bother Villain the way they would others. Fire didn’t harm Villain unless it was of their own creation.

Those flames were snuffed out the moment they crackled to life.

The so called criminal cast a bitter glance towards the ceiling, the four sprinklers connected to the main water tank, just waiting for the activation button to be pressed. Either from the security office where they knew a guard was watching them now, just waiting for the first flicker of light to turn on the water, or from the outside of their room where any traveling worker could press it if they saw fit through the little glass window on the door.

It was more annoying than anything. With the cold, it would take much more energy for them to produce even a spark, energy they did not have to spare from the nutritional meals they were given. What a load of crap. The sludge served on the tray could barely be considered food, only enough to keep them alive, not doing anything for the hunger.

If there was one thing they had to look forwards to in Thursdays, though, it was lunch. Hero always brought them lunch, from wherever they could spare the time and expenses beforehand. Usually it was fast food, something quick and greasy that would leave Villain sick for a bit afterwards, but other days it was true meals from expensive restaurants, multiple rich courses with drinks and desert to go along. Though Villain usually ended up full before that, their appetite not what it used to be after their strict, forced diet, they could appreciate the thought, and Hero would never comment when they slipped an extra roll or handful of fries into the pocket of their jumper, to stash away in the corner of their room for whenever the next bout of hunger would strike.

That almost made up for the distress the rest of their visits would cause.

As if on a cue, Villain looked up just in time to hear the heavy lock of their door slide out of place. They were backing up even before the guards stepped in, knowing the procedure by heart now.

“Against the wall.”

The room wasn’t small, but it wasn’t very big either. Eight steps across was all it took for the distance between them to be closed. Villain bit the inside of their cheek, more annoyed than anything as they raised their hands, holding them out to either side as the pair of guards stepped forwards, one holding the dreaded pair of gloves, the other with his prod already flicked on, electricity buzzing the end, prepared for any outbursts.

Fire might not have hurt them, but electricity sure did.

They didn’t fight as the first guard grabbed them by the arms. They knew better than that. The scars they held from the first and only time they tried to fight back still stood out starkly against their skin.

When Hero had given them the choice between prison or the Villainous Rehabilitation Center, the choice had seemed obvious. Life bound in chains behind bars, isolated in a cell under constant watch, or a brochure with a lovely castle like campus, smiling faces and gentle therapeutic programs to reteach criminals the way of society and introduce them back into the community, it was obvious which one they were going to pick. They weren’t a criminal, they had at first tried to protest. It had been an accident, a mistake. They hadn’t meant to hurt anyone.

Now they wish they had chosen prison.

The gloves fit snug and warm over their hands, borderline burning as the guard then fastened the familiar cuffs around their wrists. The fabric stretched nearly to their elbows, thick like the ones a person would wear when tending a fire. Villain was sure that’s where the inspiration for the design had come from. In some weird, twisted opposite way, they were designed to rather keep the flames contained. So the only thing they would burn if Villain slipped up was themself.

The marred burns that covered every inch of skin from their forearms down proved that they were effective.

The guard grabbed their arm, and they were walking out of the room. Down the hall, through the compound. Villain knew there was a nicer side to the center, somewhere towards the outside where all of the minor patients were kept. The ones with chances of recovery, one of the doctors had told them as Villain caught a glimpse through a cracked door. They had looked like the ones in the brochure, happy and smiley and hopeful. They did puzzles, and ate at buffets, and watched movies and played piano and went to normal therapy sessions where they talked about their feelings and their pasts and were only there for a few months before they were let out. But anyone who had the misfortune of being deemed “too sick to help”, anyone like them, were all locked away, behind doors that required keycards and cold cells and torture disguised as treatment. Villain knew there were others, they could hear the screams and sobs in the middle of the night if they pressed their ear to the crack in the door, or listened through the vents.

They were brought to a familiar room. The soft lights and cushioned chairs gave it the illusion of safety, of comfort, but Villain knew better. The shackles were connected to a short chain fastened to the table, and Villain was pushed down to sit in one of the chairs.

“Hero will be here shortly.”

Of course they would. It never took them more than five minutes after Villain was brought to arrive. They were sure that was purposeful, Hero was likely just sitting in another room, waiting to be given the go-ahead. There was some procedure, Villain was sure, but they didn’t care enough to risk asking. With nothing to do but count the seconds, Villain shifted in their seat and waited.

True to their history, Hero didn’t take long. The door opened and Villain looked up, a sour taste budding on their tongue.

“Hey.”

They sounded tired. Villain didn’t respond as Hero closed the door behind them. They held a bag in their hand, the smell of freshly cooked food making Villain’s stomach flip as they walked over and set it down on the same table villain was chained to before taking the seat opposite.

They waited, but Hero didn’t make any move to take the food out, so after a moment they leaned back. They would have crossed their arms, but the chains wouldn’t allow that so they settled for crossing their legs instead.

“Villain, the doctors said you have stopped putting effort towards recovery.” Hero’s voice was soft, their hands folding on the table. They didn’t meet Villain’s eyes. “They have suggested a new treatment plan, and after a long consideration, the agency has approved.”

Villain’s entire body went cold when Hero looked up. There were tears in their eyes.

“After today, I am no longer permitted to visit. The sessions will become more frequent and intense. Your rules and schedule will become more strict. Until further notice, all items of luxury or comfort will be revoked.”

Revoked? Villain felt nauseous. They weren’t entirely sure what counted as an item of luxury, but they had a really bad feeling.

“The faculty has issued a formal appeal to request your entry to a clinical trial, which after long thought the committee decided to pass. I’m sorry, Villain. We have all been trying, but you can’t get better unless you try, but since you’re not willing to put in the effort by choice, dire measures must be taken.”

“I… I don’t understand,” Villain murmured after a long moment, their voice coming out a quiet rasp. They didn’t do much talking anymore, only using their voice to scream or beg in sessions. Speaking felt weird, wrong.

“I tried to suggest alternatives, Villain, I did. I couldn’t change their minds.” A single tear rolled down the hero’s cheek, and they quickly scrubbed it away. “I really hope you get better soon. I don’t want you to turn out like the others.”

Not another word was spoken after that. Villain sunk back in their seat. They weren’t sure they wanted to know what that meant.

When it came time for Hero to leave, the food sat still on the table, untouched and cold. They glanced back over their shoulder, but villain didn’t look up.

The door shut behind them without so much as a “Goodbye.”

More Praise Whump cause this is the Good Shit

"I can't- please- I can't-"

"Just relax baby, you can do it."

"I can't, it hurts-"

"I know baby, but you're doing so well, you look so pretty like this. Just a few more."

The girl was strung up, quivering and clammy, her eyes covered by a blindfold, the only fabric on her. Her arms were cuffed to the ceiling, her feet to the floor, and she couldn't do more than hang as the man swung the whip back and it landed across her back, adding to the growing collection of red stripes.

"Please," she whimpered again, "why are you doing this? What did I do wrong?"

She was sobbing so much that the words came out blubbering.

He shushed her again, stepping up to wipe away her tears. "You didn't do anything wrong. You're doing so well."

This just elicited another sob from her. "But why," she managed to get out again.

He continued to wipe away her tears, tenderly, with the back of his hand.

"Because you look so pretty like this. It pleases me to see you like this. Don't you want to please me?"

She didn't answer, just hanging her head as he stepped back to crack the whip once more, and she screamed.

June of Doom Day 2

"Get in"

| Sobbing | Survivors Guilt | Salve |

Cw: Death, Kidnapping, manhandling

I'm tryna get in all the prompts every time but this one was hard. I'm doing my best though.

...

Whumpee hadn't said a word since Caretaker had fallen dead on the floor before them. Whumper had put a knife through them. It still sat there, wedged in their back, and it was all Whumpee could stare at. They just stared as tears slid down their cheeks.

Whumper had been delighted.

"Don't you see Whumpee? It's just you and me now. They can't take you away from me."

Whumpee had just sobbed.

Whumper had left the room shortly after, leaving Whumpee chained to the wall, just too far away from Caretaker's unmoving form to do anything more than stare and cry. They were a mess now. Snot and tears smeared all over their face. But they couldn't stop crying.

Caretaker was dead.

Whumper returned eventually and ignored Whumpee entirely as they dragged Caretaker's body out to the waiting car and shoved it into the boot.

They returned to Whumpee, crouching down in front of them to unlock the chains.

"Come on," they said, pulling Whumpee gently along by the wrist. Whumpee didn't resist. They followed Whumper out to the waiting car but froze when Whumper tried to nudge them into the back seat.

"Get in."

Whumpee shook their head.

"Get in Whumpee, before I lose my temper."

"No, please." It was barely more than a whisper, but Whumper heard.

"None of that now Whumpee, get in."

"Kill me instead."

"What?"

"Kill me instead, just wake up Caretaker. Please." Whumpee fell to their knees.

"Oh don't be ridiculous, get in the car."

When Whumpee only responded with a sob, Whumper grabbed their arm roughly and shoved them in. They landed on the floor of the car and the air knocked from their lungs.

"I told you to get in. Now be quiet or I'll gag you."

Whumpee just sobbed again, curling into a ball in the foot space.

Whumper got in and drove off. By the time they'd buried Caretaker's body in the woods and returned to their home, Whumpee's wretched sobs had quieted to raspy breaths.

Whumpee didn't object when they were dragged from the car and into the house. They didn't even object when Whumper sat them on the countertop and pulled off their shirt. There was dark bruising forming where they'd hit the floor of the car.

Whumper sighed. "See, this is what happens when you disobey me. Caretaker's gone. There's really no reason for you to be so difficult."

Whumper wiped the tears from their face and carefully applied a salve to the bruising, muttering about how grateful Whumpee should really be, about how happy they were going to be now that Caretaker was gone, but Whumpee didn't answer, they just stared off into space, only seeing that bloody knife handle sticking out of Caretaker's back.

June of Doom Day 9

"I should have listened to you"

| Sprain | Defiant | Smoke |

Cw: threats, aggravating injury, creepy whumper

I had fun with this one cause the tags were so random, and who doesn't love a defiant whumpee?

...

Whumpee lay on the ground, clutching their sprained ankle, and tried to drag themself away from Whumper.

Whumper continued to advance though, and Whumpee was nowhere near fast enough to escape them. Whumpee coughed, feeling the smoke begin to claw its way into their lungs. The fire was getting closer. The heat was beginning to scorch the air and the smoke was thickening with each passing second as Whumper drew closer. The smoke didn't seem to affect them in the slightest.

Whumper crouched before them and grabbed their ankle, yanking them towards them. Whumpee yelped in pain.

"You thought you could get away? Aw Whumpee, did you really think you could escape me?"

Whumpee tried to scramble away but Whumper's grip on their ankle was solid.

"I told you I'd burn down this house if you ever returned, but you never listen. I'll tell you what, if you beg me to take you back, it you admit you should have listened to me, I'll help you back home and fix up this ankle of yours. And if you don't..." Whumper twisted their swollen ankle, eliciting a cry of pain from Whumpee, who began to curse them out.

"I'll never beg you, psychopath!"

Whumper chuckled. "Aw, it's cute that you think that. I'll have you begging soon enough." And with that, they yanked Whumpee even closer and readjusted their grip, standing and beginning to drag Whumpee by their injured foot, right towards the flames.

Whumpee squirmed and kicked but Whumper was too strong, and they could do nothing but scream as they were dragged over the burning furniture.

June of Doom Day 11

"We're out of time"

| Firearm | Backseat | Self-Defence |

Cw: the prompts above, beating

...

Villain slammed his foot on the gas and the car shot out onto the road. They served and narrowly missed a few lamppost and pedestrians before making it onto the narrow road and taking off. They could hear the revving of the engines behind them as Superhero followed.

They cursed and swerved around onto a side street as the bullet began raining down onto them.

Hero groaned in the backseat. "Keep your head down," Villain ordered, ducking themself as a fresh wave of bullets came shattering the back window.

They didn't look up in time to properly avoid the car parked in front of them, and Villain swerved dangerously, the car careening into a wall.

The airbags deployed and all Villain could hear in those moments was ringing. They were vaguely aware of hands grabbing them, yanking them from their seat, and they only came to when the cold barrel of a gun was pressed to their head.

"You'll die for this, Villain," Superhero sneered, but before he could pull the trigger, Villain batted the gun away. They were on their feet in seconds, swaying slightly as they vision blurred, but they managed to block Superhero's first punch.

But not their second.

Villain hit the ground with a loud thud, and they didn't even manage to roll over before a kick was landed on their stomach.

Villain coughed blood, cursing, but Superhero just laughed.

They leaned down for another blow but were cut off by Sidekick.

"Superhero. We're out of time," they said hurriedly, gesturing to where a small crowd of civilians was gathering.

"Take them away. Lock them up somewhere nice and cozy until I find some time to deal with them."

Villain could only groan as they were hauled up and thrown in the backseat of a car, just watching as a half-conscious Hero was carried away by Superhero.